


5+1 Ways To Say I Love You

by oswinpond



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: 5+1 Things, M/M, This is really self indulgent, it does have a happy ending i promise, it started as a one shot and just went from there i'm so sorry, no beta we die like azog
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:00:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25974052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oswinpond/pseuds/oswinpond
Summary: Bilbo Baggins is head over heels in love with Thorin Oakenshield, but at this rate neither one of them is ever going to say anything about it.Or5 times Bilbo almost told Thorin he loved him and 1 time he actually did.
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield
Comments: 5
Kudos: 177





	1. Carrock

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y'all! This is basically as canon compliant as I could make it, so hopefully everything works... I wrote most of his while listening to The Last Goodbye. Enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Carrock scene epilogue, need I say more.

Bilbo stood staring out at the Lonely Mountain for a long while after most everyone else had gone down the steps of the Carrock. Thorin stayed with him, the two of them standing in a companionable silence as the wind blew gently around them.

“We should- we should probably join the others,” Bilbo mumbled eventually, and Thorin nodded.

“That we should,” the dwarf replied, and he winced slightly as he turned to go.

“Are you alright?” Bilbo asked, frowning slightly. Despite Thorin’s uncharacteristically upbeat attitude and his continued existence, the hobbit had still seen how he’d been flung around like a rag doll by Azog. He’d probably suffered at least some bruised ribs, though judging by how he was holding his right arm there was some injury there too.

“Of course,” he answered a little too smoothly, and Bilbo’s disbelief must have been plain on his face because Thorin paused for a moment, then sighed and continued. “I have suffered worse.”

Bilbo’s frown deepened. “I’m not sure if- well-”

“What is it, Master Baggins?” he asked, and his eyes were soft.

“Call me Bilbo, please,” said the hobbit without thinking. His face went pink a moment later, but he pushed on. “And I was going to ask if you’d like me to tend to your injuries for you. I know a bit about- and before you laugh it off, just hear me out- elvish medicine-” Thorin scowled anyway “- and I’d just like to help. If that’s alright.”

Thorin’s scowl had softened again, and he inclined his head. “I would welcome it.”

Bilbo swallowed and nodded. “Thank you,” he said, and then shook his head. “No, sorry, that’s-”

Thorin chuckled softly and then winced, his left hand creeping up to press against his side. “We should probably get down those stairs first.”

Bilbo nodded, then gently touched Thorin’s shoulder. Oh, it would be so easy. A simple _Oh by the way, I love you, just thought you ought to know before you go scaring me like that again!_ like he said in his head every morning. But of course he kept his mouth shut, and instead focused on not slipping on the stairs as they made their way down. Thorin’s breathing was tight behind him, like he was focusing all his energy on keeping it steady, and the hobbit felt something tighten in his chest along with it. At last there were no more stairs, and they stood side by side on the ground at the bottom.

Bilbo pointed to the river running near them. “Would that- I mean, it would be easier to wash them, I think.”

Thorin nodded and carefully pulled off his outer jacket and armor, removing the layers one by one till he was clad in nothing but his breeches. Bilbo pulled off his own coat and folded it carefully before setting it down next to Thorin’s, and he took a deep breath. Thorin had already moved over to the river and sat down on a rock on the bank, and the hobbit sucked in a breath at the welts across his back from what appeared to be a whip (though Bilbo of course had never seen the effects of one firsthand).

“That looks like it hurts,” he said quietly. He’d meant to say it to himself, but Thorin heard him just the same.

“Most of the goblins panicked upon discovering the identity of my sword,” he said quietly. “Many did not like what they saw, the Goblin King included.”

Bilbo carefully tore a strip of cloth from the bottom of his shirt and dunked it in the river. He’d quite liked the garment, but seeing as it was likely ruined anyway there wasn’t any harm in doing a little more damage.

“This is going to hurt,” he warned, then gently pressed the cold cloth against the fierce red marks. Thorin hissed sharply but held still, his hand clenched tightly on his leg.

“Talk to me,” Bilbo said without thinking.

Though he couldn’t see his face, Thorin sounded surprised. “What about?”

“Anything,” the hobbit replied. He paused, then pressed on, “I won’t force you, but… if you’d like to talk about Azog, I won’t tell the others. … You have my word.”

Thorin was silent for a long moment while Bilbo carefully cleaned the bite marks on his back from where the warg’s teeth had sunk in.

“I had a brother,” he said at length, and the hobbit stayed silent, listening intently. “Balin never mentioned him, but he was there. Through all of it, he was by my side. He stood with me against the dragon, and he lived with us as we made our way through the world of Men to the Blue Mountains.” He was silent for a long moment. “He was there when we made our stand at Moria. _He should not have been.”_ Bilbo blinked at the ferocity in his voice. “He was-” Thorin’s voice broke- “He was young. Only forty eight.”

“I’m sorry,” said the hobbit softly, with as much feeling as he could muster. He stood and shifted around to sit in front of Thorin, studiously avoiding his gaze as he started to clean the bite marks on his chest.

Thorin regarded him for a long moment, then nodded his gratitude.

“Do you have any siblings?” the dwarf asked abruptly.

Bilbo nearly dropped the cloth in his surprise. “I- me? Well- no, I don’t. I’ve got a lot of extended family, but no siblings.” He looked down at his hands. He was thinking of the Shire now, and his hobbit hole, and the night the dwarves had first arrived. Thorin touched his arm gently.

“Are you alright?”

Bilbo smiled at him and nodded. “Yes, absolutely!” He paused. “I do have one question, though.”

Thorin inclined his head as the hobbit started cleaning the scrapes and bruises from Azog’s mace. “How did you possibly manage to get lost _twice_ on the way to my hobbit hole?”

The dwarf gave a startled laugh and his eyebrows shot up. “I… Well. To be honest with you, I was… a little behind schedule.”

It was Bilbo’s turn to laugh now. “So you decide to make the excuse that you got lost? Thorin, there’s only one main road!”

The two of them laughed for quite some time, until Thorin eventually sighed and began to pull his hair back into a quick braid. Bilbo watched as he worked on it, tracing the movements with his gaze. He hadn't even realized he’d been staring until Thorin cleared his throat and smiled at him, at which point the hobbit’s face ignited and he looked away at the river, fishing for some topic of conversation.

Thorin seemed to take pity on him. “What happened to you in the goblin tunnels?”

“Oh,” said Bilbo, and he shuddered as he recalled two pale eyes glowing in the dark. “Well. I managed to slip away from the goblins, and I was about to follow the rest of you when I was caught by another goblin, blasted thing! We had a bit of a tussle and next thing I knew I was falling down a hole off the bridge. I happened to land in a patch of mushrooms so I was hidden, but while I was down there this little creature happened upon us. His name was Gollum, or so he said, and while I was laying there he came up and beat the goblin to death!” Thorin’s gaze was fixed on him, listening intently. “I didn’t know where I was or how to get out, and before I could think twice I’d run into the creature again. He was actually far more civilized than any goblin, and we had a game of riddles. If I won, he’d show me the way out, but if I lost, he’d eat me whole.” Bilbo shuddered again. “Anyway, I won easily enough and he took me to the entrance.”

He wasn’t sure why he’d left out the part about finding the ring and Gollum chasing him furiously down the halls, but something told him to keep quiet about it. Of course, later it would be known his silence was due to the ring’s influence, but in the moment he’d thoroughly convinced himself it was because he was keen on impressing Thorin.

“When I got there, I’d just seen all of you run past, so it wasn’t long before I found you all again.”

Thorin nodded. “I am sorry for what I said, again. It was wrong of me.” He cleared his throat. “I believe I owe you now, for saving me.”

Bilbo smiled. “No, I don’t think so. I think we’re even. You saved me from those stone giants outside of Rivendell, remember?”

Thorin frowned. “That was different. I knew there was little risk to my safety. You threw yourself unprotected into battle to save me.”

“I’d do it again,” the hobbit said immediately. “The quest needs you, Thorin.” _I need you,_ was the unspoken truth in that sentence.

The dwarf gently reached out and brushed one of Bilbo’s stray curls behind his ear. Bilbo faintly wondered if Thorin could tell his touch had set his pulse racing.

 _Say it now,_ said a voice in his head. _Tell him you love him._

Just as he opened his mouth to say it, though, someone called to them.

“Ay, Thorin!” Nori yelled. “Come here, else there won’t be any supper left!”

Bilbo was abruptly sent crashing back to reality and he shut his mouth with a snap. He gave Thorin’s injuries another quick once over, then nodded. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing.

Thorin smiled at him. “I suppose we should rejoin the others.”

Bilbo nodded sagely. “Aye,” he said, and they both laughed as they made their way over to the fire.


	2. Prison

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After breaking out of Thranduil's realm, Bilbo misses his chance on the barge.

“Please, please, you must trust me!” Bilbo hissed, and it was all he could do to stop himself from tearing at his own hair as they all moved together to confer. He looked up at Thorin next to him with an expression halfway between pleading and exasperated and thankfully the dwarrow understood.

“Do as he says,” he snapped, and everyone obeyed instantly, scrambling into barrels until twelve pairs of eyes (and one pair of boots) stared back at Bilbo.

“What do we do now?” Bofur asked, but Bilbo simply smiled as he turned towards the lever to open the door.

“Hold your breath!” he called back, and pushed it as hard as he could.

Well, their rotten luck was nothing if not consistent. Once in the water, they then had to contend with an orc pack, a group of elves, and throughout it all poor Bilbo was stuck clinging to the side of whatever barrel he happened to find whenever he would get knocked off by a particularly vicious swirl of water. By the time they made it to the end of the running rapids, all of them were exhausted and bruised (Bilbo most of all) and soaked to the bone. The hobbit stumbled onto the rocks and almost fell over, shivering in the cold breeze. He ran a hand down his face and turned to Balin when he heard him ask “Where?”

“To the mountain. We’re so close,” he mumbled, feeling a bit like a drowned rat.

“A lake lies between us and that mountain,” Balin snapped back. “We have no way to cross it.”

Bilbo was beginning to feel that this was an argument he couldn’t win, especially when his brain felt like it was stuffed with cotton. “So then we go around.”

“The orcs will run us down, sure as daylight,” Dwalin replied bitterly. Bilbo stifled a groan. “We’ve no weapons to defend ourselves.”

“Bind his leg, quickly,” Thorin said sharply. “You have two minutes.”

Bilbo glanced back at him and frowned, then dripped his way over as Thorin began to empty his boots of water.

“You only gave them two minutes?” he asked quietly. Thorin glanced up at him and then back to his waterlogged clothing.

“An orc pack is not far behind us. We have to move quickly.”

Bilbo pulled off his coat and started to wring it out. He was tired, hungry, freezing, and now Thorin being his usual, pigheaded self was really starting to wear on his already worn nerves. “He got  _ shot,” _ he snapped back, and debated the merits of wringing out water directly onto Thorin’s head. “He needs to rest. And you still don’t have a plan for getting across the lake! Even if we do get moving in two minutes, there isn’t anywhere we could go!”

Thorin scowled at him so furiously Bilbo was half sure he’d be struck dead by the force of it and the hobbit was saved from his reply as a shadow fell over the group. Bilbo watched Kili’s rock and Dwalin’s stick get decimated by two arrows, and so the Company found themselves on a barge with a host of empty barrels from the Woodland Realm.

Bilbo moved over to the bargeman, who was steering silently through the frozen waters. “Hello,” he said, and gave the Man a nervous smile.

The bargeman nodded in response and looked down at him. “You are not a dwarf,” he said gravely.

“Oh, no no, I’m a hobbit from the Shire,” he said, with as much politeness as he could muster through his shivering. “Bilbo Baggins.”

“Bard, from Laketown,” the man replied, and Bilbo nodded courteously. “How did you meet your companions?”

“A wizard,” said Bilbo, and to his credit he only said it a little sulkily. Before Bard could inquire further, Thorin touched the hobbit’s arm.

“May I have a word?” he asked quietly.

Bilbo nodded and gave a quick apology to Bard before turning back to Thorin, who pulled him a little further down the boat and away from the bargeman’s ears.

“I wanted to apologize,” he said, and Bilbo blinked.

“What for?” he asked, rather taken aback.

“It was wrong of me to dismiss your concern for Kili. I was worried for the fate of the Company should the orcs have run us down, but… I was wrong.”

Bilbo shook his head. “No, I don’t think it was wrong.” He smiled a little sadly. “If anything I shouldn’t have been so hard on you. I was just a bit… sore. And tired. And wet. And cold.”

Thorin smiled. “I know the feeling.”

Bilbo scoffed quietly. “At least you were  _ in _ a barrel, I was stuck clinging to the outside of one.” Thorin winced in sympathy at this and set a gentle hand on his shoulder. The hobbit leaned into it slightly, and the dwarf frowned.

“You’re still shivering,” he murmured.

Bilbo shrugged. “Yes, well. That’s what happens when you’re half frozen,” he tried to joke, but Thorin pulled him close before he could protest. The hobbit stiffened for a moment, then sank into the embrace, resting his forehead against Thorin’s shoulder and burrowing as close as he could get.

The two of them stayed that way for a long while, before Balin cleared his throat softly and they stepped apart to pull out their respective coin pouches. As they did so, Bilbo silently cursed himself for not saying  _ I love you. _

Ah, well. There would always be another chance.


	3. Acorn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin panics over an acorn and Bilbo wants to throttle Dwalin.

Bilbo stared down at the acorn in his hand. It seemed like decades ago that they had been in Beorn’s garden, but it had really only been a week or two at most. How quickly things changed. His breath caught in his throat. How quickly Thorin changed.

He’d known, looking back on it. He’d known the moment he saw him staring at the mountain, uncaring as the people of Laketown burned and died. The people who had helped them when no one else had. His breath caught in his throat again and he sniffed, hard, to keep the tears at bay. 

_ Dragon sickness, _ said Balin’s voice in his head. It rang in his ears until his head hurt, and he sighed. The Arkenstone was burning a hole through his other pocket, and he very obstinately did not look at it as he kept his gaze fixed on the acorn. That moment was when the object of his thoughts chose to make himself known.

“What is that in your hand?” said a low voice to his right. He looked up to find Thorin staring at him with a very dangerous look.

“It’s… It’s nothing,” he said quickly, closing his fist around the small seed.

“Show me!” Thorin commanded, striding over to him and grabbing his wrist, dragging him roughly to the side. Bilbo opened his hand and swallowed hard. Thorin simply stared at the acorn on his palm as though it held the answers to the universe.

“I picked it up in Beorn’s garden,” the hobbit mumbled. His heart ached as Thorin’s expression shifted slightly, the dark suspicion morphing into something kinder and more like the dwarf he had begun his travels with, and his gaze was now fixed on Bilbo. It was a mixture of surprise and confusion, and it made him look young.

“You’ve carried it all this way?” he asked, and his voice was softer than Bilbo had heard it in days.

“I’m going to plant it in my garden,” he replied with a small smile, “in Bag End.”

Thorin smiled back, and his expression was soft and gentle, and the hobbit found himself close to blinking back tears. Oh how he’d missed that look. “It’s a poor prize to take back to the Shire.”

“One day, it’ll grow,” he said and he smiled again. “And every time I look at it, I’ll remember. I’ll remember everything that happened, the good, the bad… and how lucky I am that I made it home.”

Thorin was looking at him now with an expression he hadn’t seen since they’d set foot in this horrible mountain. His eyes were sparkling, and he was grinning at Bilbo as though all the weight of leadership had been lifted from him, like he was merely Thorin Oakenshield again, and the title of King under the mountain had never touched him. As though the Arkenstone didn’t exist, and the gold was free of sickness, and Smaug had never come to roost in Erebor at all.

_ Tell him now,  _ the voice in Bilbo’s head said sharply.  _ Tell him now. _

“Thorin, I-” he began, but he broke off as Dwalin came around the corner towards them. His heart broke a little in his chest.

“Thorin,” called Dwalin as he came within earshot, “Survivors, from Laketown. They’re streaming into Dale. There’s hundreds of them.”

Thorin’s face was growing darker by the second, and Bilbo could have wept. He’d been so close, they both had, and now the moment was gone. Though maybe it was for the best. What a pair they’d be.

The dwarf standing before him was now undoubtedly the King of Erebor again, and all his joy had been snuffed out faster than someone blowing out a candle. He growled softly, and Bilbo was reminded, for a terrifying moment, of Smaug.

“Call everyone to the gate,” he said, and walked past Bilbo without looking at him again. “To the gate! Now!”

Bilbo watched Thorin go, and his shoulders slumped. Dwalin set a hand on his arm. “You alright, lad?”

The hobbit looked up at him. “No,” he said quietly. “I’m not.”

Dwalin nodded sympathetically, and looked at where Thorin had been standing a moment ago. “We should go to the gate,” he said quietly.

Bilbo was silent for a long moment before he nodded.


	4. Arkenstone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo pines in Dale and then talks to Balin.

“We are, in fact, outnumbered!” he cried indignantly. An army of Elves and Men was on their doorstep, and instead of simply holding to his word and striking a deal, Thorin had sent Bard away with not so much as a farewell! It was absurd!

“Not for much longer,” was his horribly cryptic reply, and Bilbo could have thrown something (if there had been anything around to throw).

“What does that mean!?” he burst out, feeling more and more put out by the whole ordeal.

“It means, Master Baggins,” Thorin said, and he stepped closer to him, “that you should never underestimate dwarves.” Bilbo would have argued again, but he found himself silent. Thorin’s expression had softened again, and though it was still tainted with that horrible madness, there was kindness there too. So the hobbit shut his mouth, made up his mind, and before he knew it he was sitting alone in a bedroom in Dale.

It was a far sight better than sleeping on the floor in Erebor (especially as many of the rooms still contained countless bodies) but it was nothing like his cozy hobbit hole. Oh how even now he still missed his armchair, and his kettle, and his rooms of clothing. And instead he was here, stealing the king’s jewel to give to people he did not know, for no reason other than the hope that  _ this _ of  _ all things _ would finally stay the blasted dragon sickness.

Gandalf had said he should fear Thorin, that Thorin was going to hurt him for this, but he was wrong. He had to be wrong. Thorin wouldn’t. Or even if he did, Bilbo couldn’t bring himself to care. He thought back to the mithril shirt Thorin had given him earlier that day and his heart felt heavy.

_ I am betrayed, _ Thorin’s voice echoed, unbidden, in his mind.  _ The Arkenstone. One of them has taken it. _

He buried his head in his hands as he started to cry.

“Oh, Thorin,” he whispered. “Why did it have to be you?”

_ It could hardly have been anyone else, _ he answered himself. And of course the worst part was, he thought Thorin loved him back. If he could only say it, maybe there was hope for them both. Maybe he could stay his madness, and they could live together. Avoid the war, avoid the orcs, and live in the Shire, or the Mountain. It didn’t matter, so long as they were together. 

It didn’t matter, of course, what he dreamed about. It would never come to pass.

He stood slowly, wiped his eyes, slid on his ring, and ran back to the mountain.

He scrambled up the rope and piled it in the corner, out of sight, then darted back down past Bombur (who was on his way up the stairs to take his watch) and back to the stone floor where he at last pulled off the ring and slipped back towards where his sleeping bag lay. He stopped short as he passed the library.

Balin was there again, pouring over old books, and his eyes were red from crying. Bilbo knocked gently on the doorframe.

“Balin?” he said softly.

The dwarf jumped and turned quickly to look at him, drying his eyes hurriedly as he did so. “Ah- hello, Bilbo. You’re up late.”

Bilbo nodded, and smiled slightly. “I can’t help but notice you’re also awake.”

Balin gave a sad chuckle. “Aye, that I am.”

“What are you doing?” Bilbo asked, his eyes flicking over the countless manuscripts piled on the table.

The old dwarf sighed and looked back at the scroll in front of him. “Research. I’m trying to find anything I can on dragon sickness, though I’m not holding out much hope.”

Bilbo sighed and nodded. “Let me know if you find anything, will you?”

Balin nodded back, then frowned, as though sensing something in Bilbo’s tone. “Are  _ you  _ alright laddie?”

The hobbit startled, then composed himself quickly. “I- me? Yes, of course.”

Balin’s look of skepticism spoke volumes. There was a long pause.

“No,” Bilbo eventually mumbled. “I’m not.” The dwarf’s face softened, but Bilbo pressed on. “Balin- it’s killing me to see this. To see him- He’s still in there, I know he is! The Thorin that I know and lo-” he cut himself off with a sharp inhale, and he could feel tears in his eyes again.

To his own astonishment, Balin didn’t look surprised. “Aye, laddie. It’s a terrible business.” He sighed. “If there is a way to help Thorin… we’ll find it.”

Bilbo nodded again, then rubbed at his eyes to get rid of the tears before they could fall. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

Balin nodded kindly in return, then looked back at the books spread across the table. Bilbo turned to go, then stopped. “Balin?”

The dwarf looked up at him. “Aye?”

“If… I told Thorin how I felt,” Bilbo said quietly, “Do you think it would help?”

Balin looked at him with a deep sadness before saying softly “I don’t know, laddie. I don’t know.”

Bilbo felt his heart sink into the floor, but he nodded.

“Goodnight, Balin.”


	5. Battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yep! This is the sad one!

“Thorin!”

Thorin spun around as Bilbo pulled off the ring. He had shed his furs and his gilded armor in favor of leather and chain mail, and it was a relief to see it.

“Bilbo,” he gasped, and he looked incredibly relieved, but Bilbo didn’t have time to bask in the warmth of his gaze.

“You have to leave here, now!” he said, looking quickly in the direction of the watchtower. “Azog has another army, attacking from the north. This watchtower will be completely surrounded, no way out.”

Thorin’s face paled at these words, and he immediately spun around, eyes fixed on the tower. Dwalin looked equally shaken, but he seemed to recover quickly.

“We are so close!” he cried, and there was anger in his eyes. “That orc scum is in there. I say we push on.”

“No!” Thorin said, and he set a hand on Dwalin’s shoulder. “That’s what he wants. He wants to draw us in.” He inhaled sharply as the realization hit him. “This is a trap.”

Dwalin’s eyes also widened at this, and Bilbo looked from one to the other. It was starting to sink in that though he had seen Thorin, Dwalin, Fili, and Kili going up the mountain, only Thorin and Dwalin were here now.

As though he had heard his thoughts, Thorin turned to Dwalin. “Find Fili and Kili. Call them back.”

“Thorin, are you sure about this?” Dwalin asked quietly.

“Do it,” Thorin said, and he sounded like a true king, confident and sure in his commands. “We’ll live to fight another day.”

Thorin and Bilbo turned away as Dwalin turned to go, but they all stopped dead in their tracks at the sound of drums. As though all of them knew what was about to happen they turned slowly in unison to face the watchtower. Torchlight flickered along the walls as Azog stepped out of the shadows, dragging Fili along next to him like a rag doll.

“Oh no,” whispered Bilbo. He hadn’t forgotten how Fili had tried to stop Thorin from throwing him from the ramparts, and this seemed like some horrible twist of fate where he was now powerless to help in return. Thorin made a choked noise next to him and stepped forward quickly, though all three of them knew they could do nothing to stop it.

“This one dies first,” Azog called to them in his own tongue. “Then the brother. Then you, Oakenshield. You will die last.”

“Go!” Fili shouted, struggling against the iron grip on his armor. “Run!”

Thorin shook his head imperceptibly, and Bilbo got the sense that he was barely holding back tears. All three of them gasped as Azog’s scimitar plunged into Fili’s chest, and Thorin made a noise like he’d just been stabbed himself.

“Here ends your filthy bloodline!” Azog roared, and threw Fili’s body over the edge of the watchtower. As Bilbo’s eyes followed his fall, he caught sight of Kili in a doorway at the bottom. He was shaking with rage and pain, and he let out a furious cry as he spun and sprinted for the stairs towards Azog.

“Kili!” Thorin yelled and took off after him, slipping on the frozen river as he ran towards the tower.

“Thorin!” yelled Dwalin. “Thorin, no!”

Bilbo was more than inclined to agree, and was left standing alone as the other dwarf ran off after the king. He slowly unsheathed his sword, looking at the tower to try and spot any movement. Thorin had reached the other bank by now, and Bilbo was about to follow when he heard a horrible shriek from behind him. He turned slowly and stared as hundreds of massive, hideous bats came hurtling through the sky, several coming straight at his head. The hobbit ducked quickly, pressing himself nearly flat to the ground as they soared past, and he looked down at his sword. It was glowing a vivid, vibrant blue, and his heart jumped into his throat as the first orc leapt over the wall and landed in front of him. It was far bigger than the others he’d fought, and regarded him with silver eyes filled with malice and hate. He dropped flat to the ground again without thinking, some part of him hoping beyond hope that this would be enough to keep him alive, and then suddenly there was an axe embedded in the orc’s chest.

Dwalin had returned, and was dispatching the approaching army with ease, his swings cutting through the horde like butter. Bilbo watched him for a long moment, then realized his staring wasn’t doing much in the way of helping and before he could think better of it he had grabbed a rock and lobbed it directly into the skull of an approaching enemy. It seemed his skill at conkers had finally come in handy as each stone found its mark with ferocious accuracy, and it was almost going  _ well _ until without warning Bolg seemed to materialize in front of him, and suddenly the butt of his club slammed into Bilbo’s temple, and everything went dark.

When the hobbit came to, he couldn’t hear fighting around him anymore. It sounded far away, and he opened his eyes slowly to find he was alone. His head was pounding, and the sun hurt his eyes, but far above him he could see birds circling. No, not just birds- eagles. The Eagles…

“The Eagles are coming,” he said softly, and he smiled.  _ Thorin, _ he thought to himself, and as soon as he did he was struggling to his feet.  _ Where’s Thorin? _

He stumbled to the edge of the rock he was on and looked out over the frozen lake. Azog lay still on the ice, and Thorin stood on the edge of the waterfall, looking out over the flaming battleground. He was the picture of beauty, his hair falling back behind him, and for a split second the hobbit’s breath caught in his throat as the sunlight hit the scene in a beautiful red and golden glow, and hope flooded through him that maybe, just maybe, they could make it through this. And then all at once Thorin fell to the side, and Bilbo’s world fell away from him as he ran towards the dwarf.

The hobbit landed hard on his knees next to him, the snow melting instantly and soaking the hem of his pants and the bottom of his coat but he didn’t care. Thorin was covered in blood, and there was a massive wound in his side that made the hobbit feel sick. There was so much blood.

“Bilbo,” Thorin gasped, and Bilbo resisted the urge to run his fingers through his hair, hold him close and tell him it would be alright and that he loved him.

“No, don’t look. Don’t move,” he said, as softly as he could, but his voice still shook. “Lie still.”

“I’m glad you are here,” Thorin said, and it sounded like every word was costing him a great deal. Bilbo almost told him to stay quiet again, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Everything was crashing down around him, his hopes and dreams falling to pieces in his arms, and it was all he could do not to start crying. He settled with shushing him softly, but Thorin pressed on. “I wish to part from you in friendship.”

“No,” Bilbo said sharply. “You’re not going anywhere, Thorin. You’re going to live.” They both knew it was a lie. It wasn’t even a good one, but it was all they had. It was all he had left.

“I would take back my words and deeds at the gate,” Thorin choked out, and Bilbo grabbed his hand. “You did what only a true friend would do. Forgive me-” and at this Bilbo shook his head. There was nothing to forgive. “- I was too blind to see. I am so sorry that I have led you into such peril.” He made a choked noise and Bilbo squeezed his hand tighter.

“No, I- I am glad to have shared in your perils, Thorin,” he said, and he was on the verge of tears now, trying to keep his voice steady, “Each and every one of them. It is far more than any Baggins deserves.” His voice broke on the last line.

Thorin smiled at him, and his heart shattered as he realized this would be the last time he’d ever see that smile. Tears seared his vision and blurred it and he angrily blinked them away, determined to hold on to this memory. His misery would not take this from him.

“Farewell, Master Burglar,” said Thorin softly. “Go back to your books, and your armchair. Plant your trees. Watch them grow.” He paused for a moment. “If more people valued home above gold… this world would be a merrier place.”

His breathing hitched and Bilbo cried out. “No! No no no no, no! Thorin! Thorin don’t you dare…” He was crying now, tears streaming down his cheeks. Thorin’s expression was vacant, and his eyes were blank, and the hobbit clung to him, lying as close to him as he could. One hand found its way to touch the black, silver streaked hair that lay spread across the rock, and he choked back a sob.

“Thorin?” he whispered. “Look, Thorin- Thorin, hold on. You hold on-” His voice broke. “You see- the Eagles. The Eagles, the Eagles are here- Thorin… the Eag…” He couldn’t finish.

Bilbo pulled away, curling into a ball next to Thorin’s body, and started to sob. He let out a yell into his hands, then staggered to his feet, and looked down at the only person he’d ever loved. He reached out, then stepped back, stumbling over to the stone wall nearby and falling into a seat, his eyes still fixed on Thorin. He sat there for a long time, until the tears had dried, the battle had ended, and Gandalf came to sit by him. He watched the dwarves find Thorin and weep over his body, while the wizard sat by and cleaned his pipe.

Eventually, Gandalf met his gaze, and he could see that he knew. Maybe he’d always known. Bilbo didn’t have the heart to shout at him, to force him to explain why he’d never said anything until now. Instead, he looked back at Thorin.

“I don’t suppose I’ll ever love another,” he said quietly, and Gandalf sighed.

“Perhaps not,” he murmured. “Though perhaps you may yet, though it will not be in the way you expect.”

Bilbo didn’t have the heart to ask what he meant.

They carried the bodies back to Erebor, and laid them to rest. Bard returned the Arkenstone in exchange for what was owed, and Thranduil at last got his gems of starlight. Thorin’s body was laid to rest in stone, with Orcrist at his side and the Arkenstone upon his breast. Bilbo cried when he saw him. It hurt more than any wound he could have sustained to see Thorin look so peaceful and so beautiful, and yet to know that it was not him. To know that he had passed from the world. Bilbo choked back his tears and stumbled on to pay his respects to Fili, but he could barely think. All he could see was Thorin, dying in his arms, and the last smile he would ever have.

The funeral was over before long, and he stayed for Dain’s coronation, though his mind was far from present. The rest of the Company seemed to feel the same, for all of them drifted through the ceremony and the congratulations afterwards with blank, numb looks while celebration surrounded them.

At the end of it all, Bilbo stepped aside and pulled Balin with him. His bag was slung over his shoulder and he forced a sad smile. “I should be getting home,” he said quietly.

Balin looked as though he’d expected this but it still pained him to see the hobbit leave. “I’ll walk you to the gate,” he said, and patted Bilbo’s shoulder.

“Thank you,” the hobbit said with another shaky smile.

The two of them walked in silence through the halls they had fought so hard to defend.

“There is to be a great feast tonight,” Balin said suddenly. “Songs will be sung, tales will be told, and Thorin Oakenshield will pass into legend.”

Bilbo nodded slightly. “I know that is how you must honor him,” he said. “But to me he was never that. He was…to me…he was…” his throat closed up and he couldn’t finish. He blinked back the tears threatening to fall and swallowed hard, trying to breathe normally again. In a painfully obvious attempt to cover up his emotional state, he said “Well, I think I’ll slip quietly away. Will you tell the others I said goodbye?”

“You can tell them yourself,” Balin said softly.

Bilbo frowned, confused, then turned back to the gate. There stood the remaining nine members of the Company, and he laughed softly. He stepped forwards.

“If any of you are ever passing Bag End, uh… tea is at four,” he said with a smile. “There’s plenty of it, and any of you are welcome any time.” He paused for a moment, then smiled again. “Don’t bother knocking.” This got some laughs, and they were a relief to hear.

He turned and climbed up on his pony, then waved back to the dwarves and the mountain. “Farewell, Thorin,” he whispered, and then trotted after Gandalf towards the Shire.


	6. Garden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And here we have the happy epilogue. Almost done!!

Bilbo had been there and back again to Erebor, gone to Rivendell many times, raised his nephew as best he could, and been to the Undying Lands of the elves. All in all, it had been a very fulfilling life, and he wasn’t at all put out about dying at long last, and awakening in Yavanna’s garden. He had his own hobbit hole there, and his parents were there too, and he’d reunited with some old friends of his, and had a wonderful time of it all.

At least, he had in the same way he always had after Thorin’s death. There was still that gaping hole in his chest, but the difference now was that he finally had hope that they could see each other again.

With that at the forefront of his mind, he stepped carefully into Yavanna’s sanctuary. There were ents here, creatures he’d only heard of in legend, and the forests of the glass dome were not to be trifled with. The hobbit had been restored to his youth (around fifty, the same age he’d been when he’d first set off on his adventure) in death, and he crept quietly through the underbrush towards his maker.

“Excuse me,” he said, and Yavanna turned to face him.

At least, he thought she did, because there really were too many eyes and leaves for him to see anything clearly, but he got the sense that she was paying attention.

“I was wondering where dwarves went when they died?” he said quietly, and Yavanna seemed like they understood why he was asking.

“They go to the halls of my lover, Aulë,” she replied softly. Her voice was like a warm summer breeze in a field of wildflowers, and Bilbo felt relaxed just hearing it. He shook himself inwardly.

“I’d like to go there,” he replied stubbornly, and he felt Yavanna’s surprise.

“Why? You have everything you need right here,” she replied, and he shook his head.

“I don’t, though, that’s the thing,” he said, and his tone was bitter.

At last, the Vala nodded. “You want Thorin Oakenshield.”

It wasn’t a question, and Bilbo simply nodded in response. The Vala paused.

“I will see what can be done,” she replied.

It was a long time before anything was “done,” but Bilbo waited. Frodo arrived after him, then Merry and Pippin and Sam, and all of them were reunited at last and still he waited.

After what felt like decades, a moth arrived to tell him Yavanna wished to speak to him. He went gladly, his sword at his side and a coat around his shoulders, prepared for whatever the Vala would tell him. When he arrived, however, Yavanna was not alone.

The great smith, Aulë, was there too, and the two of them regarded the hobbit as though sizing him up. Bilbo squared his shoulders and returned their gazes defiantly (for as long as he could before his head started to hurt).

“You wanted to see me?” he asked. Much of his timidness had burned away with age, and the last of it had died when he had. The Tookish side of him was far louder than the Baggins, and he was determined to meet whatever they had planned for him head on.

They seemed to sense his thoughts, as Aulë chuckled and Yavanna smiled down at him. Bilbo tilted his head to the side.

“We have come to a decision,” Yavanna said softly.

“What is it?”

“You may come to my halls and see Thorin Oakenshield again,” said Aulë. Bilbo could have leapt for joy, but Yavanna held up a hand. “However,” Aulë continued, “You must journey there alone. It will not be a pleasant trip, and you will have many hardships before its end.”

Bilbo buckled his sword on a little tighter. “I’m ready,” he said, and met their eyes fiercely.

Aulë smiled at him. “You will pass through the pits of Melkor first,” he said softly, and Yavanna made a strangled noise. “That will be the hardest part of your journey. Melkor no longer resides there, but there will be many foes on your road. Stay on the path, however, and no harm will befall you. From there you will then pass through the mountains of Manwë, where I think you will find a friend waiting for you. After that, you will come upon my halls.”

Yavanna set a hand on his shoulders, then handed him his little bag filled with provisions for the journey. “Travel safely, little one,” she said, and Bilbo nodded.

“How long will the journey take, do you think?” he asked Aulë, and the smith considered.

“No more than a few years,” he said, “but it will likely be longer than you think.”

Bilbo shrugged. “I’ve waited this long for him, and I can wait a little longer.”

And with that he thanked the two Valar and walked out into the wastelands of Melkor.

His journey through the Dark Lands (as he later named it) was a cold one, and he ran into many old enemies of either his or Frodo’s, including Azog and Bolg, who were both drowning in their own hatred. Shelob could be seen spinning a web for her own purposes far off in the distance, and in her threads many orcs struggled. Goblins and orcs clashed against one another with ferocity as wargs snarled and bit indiscriminately, and through it all the hobbit walked. He walked through fire, and through death, and though he never had to use his sword once his head was swimming with the sounds of drums and battle by the time he reached the gates of Manwë.

There an Eagle greeted him, and he bowed and greeted him in proper fashion in return, and then he was inside, wandering the starlight and the rock of the Mount Taniquetil. It was not until he was far from Melkor’s domain that he realized he was in Valinor again, and he could see the lands spreading out far below him, trees dappled in beautiful sunlight and elvish song lifting up on the wind. It was peaceful, and he nearly stopped there to rest, but something reminded him of Thorin, then, and he kept walking. It was only when he walked headlong into someone that he stopped and got his bearings again.

“So sorry, didn’t mean to disturb you,” he began, but a familiar laugh stopped his apologies.

Gandalf stood before him, though now he was no longer the wizard but the Maia, Olórin, and Bilbo stared at him with wide eyes. “Hullo,” he said, and then he laughed.

Gandalf laughed too (he would always be Gandalf to Bilbo, no matter what his true name was), and patted Bilbo on the shoulder.

“It seems I have found you on yet another adventure!” he said lightly, and Bilbo smiled.

“I’m going to meet someone,” he said, and Gandalf smiled at him and knew exactly what he was talking about, as was the way of the Maia.

“Well then, I will walk with you to the halls of Aulë. It’s been some time since I was last there, and I look forward to seeing them again!”

Bilbo smiled at him. “Some company would be welcome. I just passed through Melkor’s domain, and-”

Gandalf’s eyebrows shot up. “On your own?” he asked sharply, and Bilbo nodded.

“It wasn’t that bad,” he lied. “I saw Azog again, and Bolg. They didn’t bother me though.”

Gandalf made a noise that sounded a lot like  _ hmph _ before nodding. “He will be suffering for the rest of time, I believe. Those lands, such as they are called, are not to be emptied again.”

Bilbo sighed with relief. “Well, that’s one good thing,” he mumbled.

He started to hum his walking song under his breath and Gandalf smiled before singing along with him, and before long they were telling stories and recounting adventures, and all the troubles of Melkor’s domain seemed like a long forgotten dream. And that is how the two of them, some months later, came upon the halls of Aulë laughing. The great stone gates opened before them and they entered the Forgemaster’s chamber, which contained forges and metals greater than those to be found even in the halls of Moria. Bilbo stared around in wonder as the Vala turned to face them.

He smiled. “I am glad you were able to reach my domain,” Aulë said, and Bilbo looked up at him anxiously.

He opened his mouth to speak, but Aulë guessed his question and gestured to a side door. “Through there. He is anxiously awaiting your arrival.” The smith smiled. “I got the impression there was something very important he wanted to tell you.”

Bilbo turned to the door and shoved his heart out of his throat and back into his chest with as much force as he could. His fingers touched cool stone and he pushed gently, his pulse racing.

The door swung open and- oh,  _ Thorin. _ The dwarf was standing there, and he looked exactly the same as he had that day, that very first day when they’d all gathered in Bag End. He looked up quickly as Bilbo stood there, frozen, and the two of them stared at each other. The decades spent apart felt like a physical barrier between them, as solid as ice, but just as brittle. Neither of them moved for a long moment, the silence stretching out to infinity. And then Thorin took a small step forward, and the barrier crumbled, and before he could think better of it Bilbo flung himself into the dwarf’s arms. Thorin clung to him like a rock in a storm, and both of them were crying, trying to hold as much of the other as they could before the moment broke. They stayed like that for a very long time, until Bilbo eventually stepped back to wipe his eyes and Thorin swiped at his own.

“You look the same,” Bilbo eventually managed.

Thorin nodded. “You as well,” he said hoarsely, and the two of them looked at each other.

Bilbo sniffed, then scowled. “I’m still angry with you, you know.”

Thorin looked like he could kick himself. “Of course, I understand. My deeds at the gate-”

“What- no, that’s not what I’m upset about at all!” Bilbo cried indignantly. Even after all this time he still jumped to those sorts of idiotic conclusions. “I’m upset you up and died and I didn’t even get to say that I love you!”

Thorin had a struck look on his face, and it dawned on the hobbit that he might have said more than he meant to. “I- that is to say,” he stammered out, but Thorin cut him off.

“You love me?” he said softly, and Bilbo let out an angry breath.

“Yes,” he said stiffly, “Yes, I love you. Now if you’d let me die of embarrassment-”

But he didn’t get to finish because Thorin had already pulled him close and kissed him. Oh, and it was perfect. Everything he’d imagined and then some, and he didn’t ever want it to end, but his stubbornness was getting the better of him, and he pushed Thorin back after a long moment. Thorin blinked at him in confusion and Bilbo shook his head.

“I’m not- Thorin, if you’re just doing this to make me feel better about-”

The dwarf took his hands. “Bilbo,” he said softly, and the hobbit had to swallow back a fresh wave of tears, “I would never toy with your love. My heart is yours if you would have it, as it has always been.”

Bilbo looked up at him, and there was nothing but the utmost sincerity in Thorin’s gaze. He nodded weakly and Thorin grinned at him, then pulled him into another tight embrace.

“I missed you,” they said in unison, and both of them laughed.

Thorin opened his mouth to say something else when they were interrupted by someone else’s laugh. Bilbo squeaked and turned quickly to look, but Thorin rolled his eyes.

“Aww, you two are  _ adorable,” _ said a playful voice that reminded Bilbo of Kili.

Thorin sighed and stepped back, revealing another dwarrow. He had blonde hair that fell to just past his shoulders, and his beard was done in a series of intricate braids that had clearly taken time and effort. He was shorter and smaller than Thorin, but their eyes were almost identical. 

“My brother, Frerin,” Thorin said with a small smile.

Bilbo looked up at him quickly. “The one that-”

Thorin nodded. “Aye. The same.”

Frerin grinned. “Nice to meet you! Thorin hasn’t shut up about you since he died, so it’s a bit of a relief you’re here now. Also, the rest of the Company is back that way-” he indicated the other door out of the room “- and they’re very excited to see you again.”

Bilbo blinked at him and then laughed. “I can’t wait to see them.”

He looked up at Thorin and carefully pulled on one of his braids to get him to lean down, then kissed him again, long and slow.

“Right,” he said when they broke apart, “We should probably join the others.”

“That we should,” Thorin replied, and they both laughed as they made their way out and into the Halls of Aulë.

**Author's Note:**

> Wahoo welcome to the end!! Thank you for reading ;3!
> 
> Also if y'all want to request something or just say hi feel free to send me an ask or message me on Tumblr @crowleycrawley!


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